


Skirting the Issue

by Sara Generis (kanadka)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: BDSM, Drunken Confessions, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, M/M, Roleplay, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7239967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanadka/pseuds/Sara%20Generis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canada is unsatisfied. Germany is unsatisfied. They can be unsatisfied together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a kink meme prompt that I a) lost and b) never really completely fulfilled? So it was never posted on the km.
> 
> Written forever ago, and that's why it kind of sucks.

_One beer, one single malt whiskey_

“It’s a nice night for a drink,” Canada says. “It’s a bit late though.”

“Mmm,” Germany replies. This is neither agreement nor disagreement. Canada doesn’t let the silence get to him. Germany has never really been big on talking and Canada is fully aware of this.

–

_Two beers, one single malt whiskey, one scotch_

“I appreciate your sitting with me,” Germany says finally. He’s on his second. He can’t possibly be drunk - unless that beer is nine percent, but Canada didn’t recall seeing anything like that on the bar’s drinks list. “I thought I wanted to be alone but upon reflection, perhaps not.”

Canada smiles as an answer to the comment. Drawing any further attention to it will only embarrass Germany, he suspects. Germany is not really the kind of person who likes to talk feelings. “It’s a nice night for a drink,” he says instead. “I needed one.”

“So did I,” Germany replies, and doesn’t say anything else.

–

_Four beers, one single malt whiskey, one scotch_

The beer is surprisingly good, Canada thinks. Maybe not strong, but it’s difficult to tell the difference after he’s had a whiskey and a scotch already. Right now his tongue tingles every time it meets the dark amber liquid and there’s a sweetness that pervades the beverage that pleases his palate.

Germany gets back to the table with few missteps. “You’re hitting that pretty hard,” Canada notes. “Won’t Italy be upset?” Germany downs the rest of the drink in response.

Canada says nothing and waits.

–

_Five beers, one single malt whiskey, one scotch, one half-glass Valpolicella_

“The thing is,” Germany rants angrily - though his anger isn’t directed at his drinking companion and Canada knows this well, though his second beer tells him otherwise and slowly sparks his own ire, “I had never expected anything from him, nothing at all, you see? It is a complete mystery that we are even together so long after how much has transpired.”

“It might be _because_ of what has transpired,” Canada guesses, but Germany shakes his head so quickly he needs to grab hold of the table to steady himself.

“It’s different. I - agh, I cannot explain it easily.”

So Canada waits until they order more alcohol. If there’s one thing that’s effective at loosening tongues and morals, it’s that.

–

_Five beers, one single malt whiskey, one scotch, one half-glass Valpolicella, two martinis_

“It’s the sex, isn’t it,” Canada asks. He’s long since forgone being gentle - the martini has that effect on him. Now, he’s blunt and the way in which he says it isn’t meant to be insulting but rather matter of fact.

Germany appears to understand that. He drains his own martini and exclaims, “It’s very much the sex! It’s not that I don’t feel for him but there is an element that is missing, I cannot share with him every part of what it is I need, what I crave! And I have told him before, but he claims it isn’t something he desires! No, this is - I should not be saying this.”

“I understand completely,” Canada says. Germany doesn’t look like he is very comforted by that so Canada covers Germany’s hand with his own - firebrand warm, that alcohol must have Germany’s head spinning like a top (it’s sure doing a number on Canada’s). “Trust me on this, I do. There’s - you know that thing I’ve had with England for some time now. It’s exactly as you describe, it’s sweet, it’s perfect, it’s beautiful, it’s magical, it’s - and it’s only half of what I want! So there’s this itch, eh? This itch that I’ve needed to scratch for so long now and every time it gets to the bedroom no matter what I tell him it never gets to be more than that, and I just -”

Canada wishes there were more alcohol for him to drink but his martini is gone (when did that happen? He wants another.) so instead of draining it to show his recklessness and impulsivity he grabs Germany by the wrist and leans in. “I want to tie him to the bed and fuck him senseless,” he insists, his eyes wild and his voice strained. “I want him restrained. I want him immobile. I want him so turned on he’s shaking and he _can’t touch himself_ and doesn’t come until I let him because I control his body and how good it feels and I want to use the fullest extent of my imagination on him and _he won’t let me_  and it’s _driving me insane!_ ”

“Italy couldn’t dominate a mouse,” Germany complains. “And yet if he could, he wouldn’t be Italy, and I wouldn’t love him as I do. But the - there is no other word for it - _lovemaking_ , it is unsatisfying! For me, there is a part that is sorely lacking.”

“I want to embrace him _after_  I’ve slapped him around,” Canada agrees, “afterwards, I’ll cuddle him close and tell him I love him, but during, I want him to look at me with wariness, astonishment and subservience, and I want to tell him what to do!”

“Begging, I miss begging and pleading to come,” Germany murmurs. He doesn’t raise his eyes to Canada’s when he continues, “And - and defilement, and - feeling like I’m a whore, the guilt, the shame - he’s too nice to tell me what a slut I am, how bad I’ve been, he’d laugh halfway through!”

Canada stares Germany hard in the eyes.

“No,” Germany says, “I couldn’t, not to - it would destroy him,” he insists.

“Italy’s not that fragile,” Canada whines. “Besides, isn’t this destroying you? Just a little bit? I could make it good, Ludwig, I could - I could fuck you like you wanted. Do you want me to?”

Germany pales. He looks down at the table, where Canada’s gripping his wrist tightly enough to bruise. But he doesn’t pull away. “I suppose what Italy doesn’t know will not hurt him,” he whispers. “You’re familiar enough that - I can trust you.”

Canada thinks maybe he needs a little more convincing, and yanks Germany by the wrist across the table. The empty martini glasses skitter to the side and come close to falling off the edge. With his other hand Canada grabs the tight collar of Germany’s shirt - buttoned to the throat, high and tight, fastened with a tie knotted sharply below the adam’s apple which bobs against Canada’s knuckle as Germany swallows. And then Canada pulls him across the table, seals their mouths together and shoves his tongue in.

Germany practically goes limp and let him does what he wants.

Freedom, his mind cries, sweet glorious freedom to take, and plunder, and ravage! And he does for a moment, enjoying the way that Germany opens up to him, the feel of his lips, lax against Canada’s.

When Canada pushes him away again, Germany’s eyes are hazy and his mouth looks wrecked, all kiss-bitten and swollen lips. Canada knows he can’t stop - won’t stop - there, not until he’s marked the length of his pale throat with bruises.

“Yes,” Germany breathes against his lips. “This is - I need it -”

Canada grabs him by the chin and spits, “Did I say you could talk?”


	2. Chapter 2

“You don’t talk too much,” says Canada. He is standing above Germany, who is naked and kneeling on the ground, bent over prostrate with his hands bound by a cable tie in front of him. Generous. Canada could have put them behind his back.

“I said,” Canada repeats, walking around Germany with slow, purposeful strides - his shiny black boots click on the flagstone and echo in the room - “you don’t talk too much. Why don’t you start talking for me.” 

And without warning the blow comes, a loud crack that deafens him first and reddens his face next. A riding crop across his back - once, twice - stop.

In a low throaty voice, Canada chuckles, and by the time he’s done the pain has reduced to a dull hot throb with aftershock echoes of tingles. Though it stings, it’s not all that bad, and the shock is what propels Germany’s heart into rapid thuds and his breath comes shallowly. He is startled, but the anxiety arouses him.

Canada is behind him now, bent over him, the stiff brown fabric of his jacket uncomfortably drifting across the marks Canada leaves, the buttons of his breast pockets jabbing into his back. He coos softly in Germany’s ear, “When I ask you a question, you’re going to answer. Now. What is it I want?”

“Information,” Germany replies.

“Very good.” Canada pats him on the bum and, after giving it a firm squeeze, stands. The cold air is a treat on his back. “What kind of information is it that I want?”

“A-about my troops -”

CRACK, CRACK -

These two blows leave Germany’s thighs shaking. He leans forward more to put his weight on his forearms, hoping Canada will pay greater attention to his ass. At least there, there is some fat to dissipate the impulse of a blow - if struck on his lower back, it’s more painful.

“Don’t play stupid with me. I don’t _care_ about your armies,” Canada sneers. “I care about where you put them. Now. Where are they advancing.”

Germany doesn’t speak. He won’t betray them so easily. Canada will have to drag it out of them.

Canada brings the crop down on his lower back. He’s not using all of his force yet but it still hurts and Germany whimpers, and tries to shy away from it, to keep his back low away from the threat. It stings and the pain spreads quickly to his shoulder blades; or maybe that’s the ache from supporting himself in this position for a long period of time.

“You know, I can make you scream this way,” Canada taunts. He drags the little leather loop on the tip of the riding crop up the back of Germany’s left thigh, slowly and proudly. At the junction of Germany’s legs Canada worms the tip inside his thighs to trail it around his testicles. Empty threat. Canada won’t. He doesn’t dare go that far -

CRACK, and the pain is on his ass now.

\- it’s close enough to his balls that it doesn’t just startle Germany, it makes him gasp.

“Talk for me,” Canada warns.

“No,” Germany croaks, and Canada’s assault on his backside truly begins.

It is nine and then ten strokes later that Canada stops. (Germany has been counting. Canada doesn’t ask him to count but Germany likes to, and does inside his head.)

Canada squats down near his head, where Germany rests it against the flagstone. “Are you going to play nice?” Canada asks gently.

“Never,” Germany replies.

This will goad Canada on, he knows. This will make Canada want to beat him bloody and whimpering and shaking against the cold stone beneath him until he’s whinging in the fetal position for a reprieve that Canada won’t give him. Germany doesn’t care. Do your worst, he thinks, anticipating the blows, his cock hard and leaking for it.

Canada merely stands, then walks back around. One step after another, he takes them carefully and divides out the meter of clicks of his heels around Germany.

Come on then, Germany thinks, get on with it!

Canada continues walking, his pace even and true.

“Get on with it!” Germany finally commands, and Canada stops.

“ _There’s_  that pretty voice,” Canada replies. And then he says, “I’m tempted not to. You don’t get to give the orders when you’re a prisoner of war.”

“Either leave me alone or finish what you’ve started,” Germany says, his voice as taut and desperate as he feels. Canada taps his foot on the ground, waiting impatiently.

“Please!” Germany cries.

Canada’s chuckle is low and throaty and he says, “The magic word, eh? Hm. If you’re not going to be more cooperative I’m going to have to put you in your place. Do you know we captured your brother yesterday?”

This jars him. Germany clears his throat. Prussia is off-limits for their games, Canada knows that.

“ _Your friend_  sold him out,” Canada continues, and Germany feels a little better. It’s okay to mention Italy, though. That makes Germany feel even more ashamed about their setup, which he likes. With a sigh, Germany allows himself to sink back into the game, like relaxing into a warm bath.

“He was desperate. Said he’d do anything to avoid more interrogation. Sold you out first, but -” Canada chuckles - “of course, we already had you. That’s not going to help him, though. We’ll do the same thing to him if you won’t give us the answers we need. But I won’t be using this little toy on him,” he says, referring to the riding crop. Canada takes the riding crop and nudges the leather loop on the inside of Germany’s thighs. It tickles; he separates his legs at the leastest touch. He didn’t think it was possible to grow harder but does anyway, and now his cock aches more badly than any part of his body which has been reduced in comparison to nothing more than tingling.

“I have something else to entertain us with,” Canada says. The riding crop moves further south, up his balls and trails a line on the underside of his cock to the head, where it smears the bead of wet on the crown. A flick of Canada’s wrist and a _smack_ and the riding crop strikes the flagstone beneath Germany’s knees. “And, I’ll do it myself. I think he’d let out some fantastic cries - I think I’d like to hear them, since you won’t say a word -”

“I’ll do it,” Germany says. “Don’t - d-don’t touch him, please, please - I’ll do it. Spare him, take me, take me, please. Not him, he c-can’t - can’t take it - please!”

There is a clatter which makes Germany turn his head, expecting the pain of a blow. When it doesn’t come, he looks back next to him where the riding crop has been thrown on the ground. “But,” he begins.

“You asked so nicely,” Canada replies, “so I’ll find other things to hit you with.” Germany hears the shifting of cloth and a zip. His heart picks up the pace doubletime.


End file.
